


I Told You So

by greyvvardenfell



Series: OC-tober 2020 [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Body Dysphoria, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyvvardenfell/pseuds/greyvvardenfell
Summary: Zevran has yet another story of yet another beautiful person from his past.... but this one sounds a little familiar to Reydis.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Brosca
Series: OC-tober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974934
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	I Told You So

**Author's Note:**

> The artist formerly known as Reyja Brosca has informed me that she wants to be less of a self-insert and more her own person, so I changed her name to Reydis to reflect that, and retroactively updated all of my fics too.

“Have I told you all about the most beautiful person I have ever seen?”

Zevran’s voice carried over the camp, huddled as it was in a narrow gully. A chorus of interest met him while, behind her tent, Reydis paled. She had taken to dining alone again, after Alistair’s seemingly friendly jokes about the way she ate now, bordering ravenous with her new Warden appetite. Surely none of the people she travelled with would want to see such a revolting display. It felt more natural anyway: meals had always been solitary, a predator jealously guarding its catch. In Dust Town, with the Carta, it was nearly a requirement.

And now, alone once more, hiding from the judgement she was sure she saw in every gaze, Reydis threw down the last piece of char-skinned rabbit and hugged her knees to her chest. If she had to hear one more of Zevran’s stories of long-legged beauties, of the rippling muscle of men who could easily model for the lewd Tevinter statues she kept hearing about, of flowing hair so easy to run fingers through or smooth skin so easy to kiss, she thought she might take to eating her meals completely out of earshot. The risk of an ambush versus the pain of being reminded so clearly that she had nothing to offer him became an easier choice with every new memory Zevran dredged up.

“Let me see…”

His voice, the rich Antivan syllables flowing like molten gold, sought her out. Reydis furrowed her brow and stared hard into the darkness outside the ring of firelight. At least the shadow of her tent hid her well.

“The first thing that struck me were her eyes, I think. I was in a rather delicate situation, you see, when we met. To state it plainly: I had gotten myself trapped between a rock and a hard place and she came to my rescue.”

Leliana’s tinkling laughter speckled the spring evening. “Is this a habit of yours, Zevran?”

“What can I say? I like to live dangerously.”

“It would seem so!”

Reydis curled further into herself and sank her teeth into her forearm. Leliana had beautiful eyes, blue as a cloudless sky, wide and captivating. Reydis’s own were too small, too steely, gray-blue like slate.

“In any case,” Zevran continued, “She made me an offer I could not refuse and the next thing I knew, I had become a sort of bodyguard for her. I made her safety my top priority, of course; I am nothing if not loyal.”

“Except to your Crows.” It had been months since he joined their little band, but Morrigan still made her suspicions of his past connections clear.

Zevran scoffed. “I was indentured to the Crows, not loyal to them. As I believe I have told you before, my sweet Wilds witch, they made me who I am, but lost their hold on me the moment I failed to complete the assassination that brought me to this beautiful country of yours.”

“Ferelden,” Morrigan sneered, “Is no country of mine.”

“You live here, do you not? We can argue semantics all you wish, but the fact remains.”

“I will not deign to argue with you.”

“Shall we call it a draw, then?”

Morrigan also did not deign to answer.

Reydis’s heart clenched as Zevran laughed, the spirited, bold laugh that made her cheeks flush. It fit him so well. However loud the fighting around them got, she could always hear him. 

“She was a competent warrior. In truth, she probably did not need my help, but I welcomed the chance to offer my assistance. If nothing else…” Zevran trailed off, lost in the memory. His earrings jingled with the shake of his head when he brought himself back. “If nothing else, it gave me an excellent opportunity to watch her. Ah, what a marvel. I do not think I will ever forget how strong she was. I never asked, but I have no doubt she could have carried me with ease though she was a good deal shorter than I. Shorter, and much softer. Plush, I would say, on top of her lovely musculature. And she had so many tattoos!”

“Tattoos? Seriously?” Alistair asked around a mouthful of bland potatoes.

“Not everyone has the same response to the offer of a bath and a massage as you do, my friend.”

“ _You_ tattooed her?”

“Alas, no. But the process is the same, whether I have the honor of being present for it or not.”

Alistair swallowed. “I honestly thought you were joking about all that.”

“What, the olives and the rose water? The sweet sting of the needle as it drives the ink into your flesh?”

“Stop! Stop. I didn’t want to hear it then and I don’t want to hear it now.” Alistair hauled himself to his feet and spooned another pile of potatoes onto his plate, scraping around the sides of the cooking pot.

Zevran clicked his tongue in mock despair. “A shame. Your skin would take ink well. As did hers… such stunning contrast.”

The rocky walls of the ravine looked scalable, Reydis thought, if the flickers of light across its fissures and loose stones could be trusted. Shame crept along her spine at the mere thought of fleeing: she was a Grey Warden now, not a silly teenager hiding from the jeers of the other casteless kids in the warrens of Dust Town. And yet… She pressed the meat of her palms into her eyes, grateful for the safety the blackness offered. After the debacle on Mount Daverus, with Zevran’s hands on her back as he lifted pieces of her armor away, the tingle of his breath along her neck when he leaned close to run his nimble fingers down her sides in search of another buckle to undo, his presence so solid against her in the heat of Andraste’s sacred flames— she cut off the thought. The temple was weeks away now. Surely seeing her bare in front of him had quashed any misplaced interest Zevran might have had. They'd hardly spoken since then, nothing like before. Surely her wide, soft belly and uneven breasts and broad shoulders had scared him off. A man so used to beauty would have no need for her. And surely, she was not beautiful. Even with the blocky Carta insignias stained into her arm, her shoulder, her thigh, the ink clear evidence of her life as a casteless nobody that would dog her for the rest of her days, she was both too much and never enough.

“So what happened to her?” Alistair asked through another bite.

“If I may suggest chewing your food? I have seen too many people choke to wish such a fate upon you.”

“Oh. Right.” Another swallow, followed by the slosh of a waterskin. “It’s just that, well, you’re talking about her like she’s, um…?”

“Dead?”

“You didn’t have to kill her, did you?”

Zevran sighed. “I do not know what became of her. It was a tumultuous time, you see. I can only hope she found happiness. Love, perhaps. She deserved — deserves — no less.”

“Did you love her?” asked Leliana.

“I…”

Amgarrak’s wild barking cut through the conversation. Around the fire, people scrambled to their feet, scattering to fetch the weapons they had stowed in their tents before the threat made itself known. Reydis, too, startled at the sound and pushed her brooding aside: damn the Grey Wardens. What use was an increased appetite when the abilities it was supposed to fuel failed?

But the creature that ran down the gully and into the camp was no darkspawn. A raccoon, perhaps, or another rabbit, chased by Amgarrak’s drooling jowls and joyful yelps. Reydis’s companions groaned as the mabari’s heavy hindquarters disappeared into the bushes at the mouth of the ravine.

“That dog…” Morrigan growled. 

Alistair leapt to Amgarrak’s defense immediately. “He’s just being who he is!”

“A thoughtless mongrel?"

“I’m sure he intended to be friendly—”

Morrigan wheeled on Leliana. “He is a wardog with a wardog’s instincts to pursue and kill. You find it friendly to feel teeth meeting in your throat, then?”

“I meant only—”

“Perhaps you would like to experience such a thing yourself? I would be more than pleased to show you the power of a wolf’s jaws—”

“Ladies! Please!”

In the chaos, masked by the rising fury of Morrigan and Leliana’s argument with Alistair stuck between them, Reydis did not notice his near-silent footsteps until Zevran cleared his throat beside her.

“I was not exaggerating, you know.”

She jumped, flushing scarlet in the wake of his soft words. “Exaggerating what?”

Zevran chuckled, low in his chest. His eyes caught the firelight that peeked around the side of Reydis’s tent as he cocked his head and cupped her branded cheek. “My dear Warden, who did you think I was talking about?”


End file.
